After Kamino
by thejedisentinel
Summary: This is something I wrote almost two years ago, after reading the 'Rite of Passage' comic. Yes, the one with Kit saving Aayla in a most unusual fashion. A blatantly saccharine fic, it will probably give you cause to think you've got Internet diabetes.


They stood on the mezzanine deck overlooking the medbay, each lost in thought as they gazed down through the transparisteel window at the bacta tanks below. Two of the tanks were inhabited, their occupants floating in the healing liquid, motionless save for the occasional twitch of the eyelids and the steady rise and fall of their chests.

Kit broke the silence first.

"How fares Tholme?...He might have died."

The latter remark was more than a bare statement of fact, though it was undeniable that had T'ra not arrived on the scene when she did, Tholme might very well have slipped from the land of the living. After all, being in the vicinity of an exploding bomb and then being partially buried by the ensuing debris does tend to compromise one's health significantly.

It was a question. How do you do it? How do you and Tholme go on, with each other - being involved - how do you two avoid the danger that such attachments are said to bring? Especially when either one of you might die on a mission, someday? How do you continue to function effectively as Jedi, never knowing when - or IF - you'll see each other again? How do you love without fear of loss?

She has felt it before, Kit thought to himself ruefully. That horrid feeling in the bottom of your gut that hasn't even the decency to confine itself to the gut but instead spreads upwards and outwards, reaching for the heart(s?), morphing from mere nausea to a stabbing, heart-rending _agony_ that carried with it all the certainty - that someone, Someone had been _hurt_; Someone was in _grave danger_ - that the Force could give.

It had caught him by surprise. He had been fighting, deflecting blaster bolts during their sting operation on a band of raiders hiding on Devaron. Aayla had provided the location of their hideout, and then went to track down - what was it, an assassain? - on her own. Naturally, he had been concerned - she _is_ a friend after all, he had told himself - but had put it out of his mind entirely whilst engaged in the mayhem that only a gang of committed lawbreakers facing down Jedi could produce. Or so he thought. One second he had been a model of balance and focus: the next, he had _gasped_ and folded into himself, staggering as if he'd been socked one in the gut. Well, it **had** felt that way, Kit reasoned. And though it took him only a moment to recover his usual equilibrium, the lapse had been sufficient for T'ra to have noticed.

It hadn't helped that he had _groaned_ audibly, either. Or that he'd found himself unable to keep the words from pouring out of his mouth - what was it he had said? "Aayla's been hurt," that was it. And as soon as he'd said it he _knew_ he'd given himself away; and then he felt obliged to tell T'ra that the Dark Woman and Tholme, too, were hurt - perhaps even dying.

_Terribly_ smooth recovery there, Fisto, he had told himself later on. An explosion had been logged at Tholme and the Dark Woman's last known location even before T'ra and he had set out to disable the raiders' base; and he'd felt it in the Force _then_ that both Tholme and the Dark Woman had been injured. If he had felt it, T'ra _certainly_ would have, too - so telling her what she _already_ knew...?

So. Very. Clever. Fisto, you _dork_. The obvious tautology of the latter would have only served to bring the underlying significance of the former into sharper focus and relief! How did you **ever** end up a Councillor, you moron? Kit told himself. But he had to know - how had Masters Tholme and T'ra managed it? This, and other questions lingered, unspoken but barely disguised in the thin veil of a trite remark.

T'ra's mellifluous tones recalled him to himself.

"Someday he will. Someday we **all** will...I am a Neti: Tholme is a Human. I was a Jedi long before he was born...I will live long after his death." She turned and looked deep into his eyes. Then she smiled.

A tone of wistfulness lingers in her voice, thought Kit, as he instinctively reached out in the Force to touch the surface of T'ra's thoughts. Wistfulness, an acknowledgement of the inevitable... and peace. Peace! Strange, that. Received wisdom taught that love was turbulent and blinding, robbing otherwise sensible beings of their rationality and perspective, leaving only roiling waves where once had been harmony. Love, it was said, coloured everything, made it impossible for Jedi to truly **be** Jedi - because it came with passion - and wasn't passion antithetical to peace? Wasn't passion a heightened state of emotion - a path to the Dark Side? And what of the desire for exclusivity - wasn't that a wrongful desire to possess another? Kit struggled with these thoughts, each question shouting its presence in his head and attempting to drown out its fellows.

T'ra must have read the conflict in his eyes. "Every season has its own sweetness. Even the sad ones. We take what comes as a Jedi should."

And then, with a swish of her skirts, she had turned the corner and disappeared, only to reappear moments later in the room below, one hand pressed to the glass of the bacta tank, smiling affectionately at its inhabitant - Tholme. She did not look in his direction, but Kit heard her voice in his head: "How else would we live..?"

Huh...? Kit pondered the significance of what T'ra had just said. Doubtless she had just imparted some gem of wisdom, some nugget of insight - if only he knew what. No wonder Jedi Masters were generally stereotyped as imponderable and prone to cryptic utterances: if he, a fellow Master, encountered difficulty in making sense of his colleagues' sayings, Force help everyone else who _wasn't_..!

He turned T'ra's words over and over again in his mind, approaching them from different angles, probing and evaluating them carefully. Try as he might, Kit was unable to find any trace of bitterness, resentment, anger or defiance - dark emotions which were said to spring all too easily from attachment - _especially_ romantic attachment.

**Most** unusual, he thought. After all, one of the greatest dangers posed to Jedi by _love_ was that they might be tempted to use their Force-given abilities to retain the object of their affections, even when the time had come to let go, right? And death - loving someone made it harder to accept death as an inevitable part of life, right? Moreover, Jedi ought to be above petty sentiment, fulfilling their duties as guardians of peace and justice in perfect neutrality, unhampered by the distractions that indulging a soft spot for anyone - or anything - might bring. That was why Jedi had no - or very few - possessions, wasn't it? And having someone special - really, wasn't that about _possessing_ that person?

You're missing the point of what Master T'ra said entirely, you fool, said a little voice in the back of Kit's mind. Look at T'ra. Does she strike you as a Dark-Sider? No. Is T'ra unfocussed, imbalanced? Most definitely not, Kit thought. As a matter of fact, she'd actually _wanted_ to stay - to see their mission through, despite her concern for Tholme's welfare. It had taken Kit a little effort to assure T'ra that he could spare her, plus a small detachment of clones to look for Tholme, and that in letting her go he wouldn't be compromising their mission at all. No, Master T'ra was certainly not 'unfocussed' or 'imbalanced', despite her obvious affection for Tholme, and her concern for his welfare. In fact, you would be hard-pressed to call Master T'ra anything else apart from an excellent model of a Jedi, wouldn't you?

And, Kit mused to himself, you certainly _can't_ accuse Master T'ra of fearing loss, or of harbouring resentment - or bitterness, anger, or defiance - at the natural order of things. She's acknowledged and accepted them, for crying out loud. You're a Nautolan **and** a Jedi - you'd have known, _instantly_, if Master T'ra were mouthing insincere platitudes. As a matter of fact, you were shocked, weren't you, at her inner peace and harmony? - because it flew against the grain of _everything_ you've been taught about the dangers of romantic attachment.

Was that what Master T'ra had been telling him, then? That it was possible for a Jedi to love or become romantically attached - like herself and Tholme - and still avoid the pitfalls, the lure of the Dark Side..? Possibly, possibly - no, wait - why would she.. how could she know - oh yes. You did give yourself away back there, just like you did in front of Masters Windu, Kolar and Tiin back on the Rig. Evidently your skull is thicker than the average bantha's. As if whining about how upset Aayla would be and _how you were going to tell her_, was _any_ kind of appropriate immediate response when faced with concrete evidence that a fellow Jedi had fallen to the Dark Side.

It had been a great shock to his system - and he had taken quite a while to accept it - when he first suspected himself of having a more than platonic affection for Aayla. He'd struggled with the enormity of it all, unable to ignore those feelings, unwilling to cut her out of his life entirely (it would have been a failproof method of ensuring that those feelings didn't deepen, and an equally sure way of guaranteeing a miserable state of existence for himself); doing his best to convince himself that _She Is Only A Friend_ - and then, like the Kowakian monkey-lizard it often resembled, Fate had stepped in and thrown Aayla into the churning depths of Kamino.

He'd saved her - and he'd _enjoyed_ saving her. More than he'd enjoyed saving anyone in his entire career - a fact which, together with his brain resolutely refusing to replay anything else but The Incident - despite his determined efforts to make it do otherwise - haunted him to the point of sleeplessness for a week afterwards. After nearly seven days of internal bickering, he'd grudgingly acknowledged defeat and accepted that perhaps - _just perhaps_ - his feelings for Aayla had grown beyond simple friendship. It would have to be kept secret, and of course, he could never tell Aayla. Bad enough to have his own mind messed up without disturbing the equilibrium of whatever lay in Aayla's _lekku_, also.

With a start, Kit realized that he was _still_ standing by the transparisteel window overlooking the medbay. T'ra was standing vigil by Tholme - oh, great - Master T'ra and Tholme probably think you're _spying_ on them now, or that you're being insensitive and rude and - be mindful of yourself, Fisto. Some Jedi Master you are.

As he strolled down the long corridors leading to the private sleeping areas, Kit continued with his deliberations: Right. We've established that Master T'ra was probably giving you advice in relation to the unspoken questions which you had, and which - evidently - she's guessed at, primarily because you've been appallingly OBVIOUS. The question is, why did she answer the way she did? Almost as if she were.. hinting. Hinting at what? ...okay, she's practically told you how she believes the dangers might be avoided, and yes, she does make sense. Hmm. She's also demonstrated her perfect equilibrium, all things notwithstanding. Okay. What else is there? Something about taking the sweet along with the bitter, as Jedi should. Can't fight with that, it's a fundamental Jedi precept that you accept whatever the Force gives or takes, in faith that a higher purpose is being worked out...even if it takes those dearest to you. No.. the hint was somewhere else. What else did T'ra say - oh yes - "How else would we live?"

Live, indeed. Why that particular choice of words?

Then it struck him. These questions he'd been seeking answers to, those feelings he had for Aayla, his struggle to comprehend _how_ Tholme and T'ra could continue to function, despite - didn't they all revolve around _relationships_? And weren't relationships a very vital, necessary, part of life? Who was it who had said that relationships with those around imparted meaning to life? Of course, it had been Tholme. And who could deny the wisdom of that? Only one Jedi popped up in Kit's mind - that strange creature known as the Dark Woman. Of course..! She eschewed EVERYTHING, even her own **name**.

Kit made a face and shook his head. Truly, as Mace had said, she was incredibly **bizarre**. And desperately _unhappy_, too, Kit thought. She had no real friends, because she never LET herself be a friend. Nobody really LIKED her, because she never let herself LIKE anyone - not even her own Padawans. The Dark Woman had a notorious reputation for being the _only_ hard-hearted non-Dark Jedi around for parsecs. Even a bantha had friends, never mind if they tended to be fleas.

...only, it hadn't been ordinary, run-of-the-mill relationships that T'ra was speaking of, had it? T'ra had been speaking of Special Relationships. Specifically, romantic ones, such as the one she shared with Tholme. If anything, _those_ were even higher up the ladder in terms of their value-add to life, with a capital 'L'.

Understanding swept over Kit like a rush of cold water - exhilaratingly refreshing, washing away all the dust and cobwebs of doubt and confusion, and bringing with it the oxygen of _certainty_. Relationships, all relationships, were part and parcel of life. You couldn't truly _live_ unless you had relationships with others, and if by chance one of those ordinary, day-to-day relationships blossomed into something else, you didn't cut it off like a cancerous lump - you acknowledged it, recognized it for what it was, and treasured it for as long as it was _meant_ to be yours, taking the joy that it had to offer, and accepting the loss and pain when it ended. **That** was living, **that** was what life was about, **that** was what it meant to _live_.

Kit's mind was now in hyperdrive. If T'ra had meant to say all that, if she'd given him all the answers he had been seeking since.. since Kamino, and if she'd even gone so far as to give cryptic advice about Life - and if he'd understood her correctly, and he had no reason to believe that he _hadn't_ .. then.. then the hint she must have been giving would have been - of course! Master T'ra was giving him the green light, wasn't she? To, well.. to _talk to Aayla_. Tell her how he felt. To be honest with her, as he'd been with himself, after a season. **Now.**

Two clones who were having a quiet chat in the corridor leading up to the galley found themselves jumping into a store cupboard in order to avoid being knocked over by a Nautolan Jedi Master as he sped past them, like a streak of green lightning.

"Must be something important, to be running like that. Do you suppose we've been attacked?"  
"Nah. If it were the Separatists, we'd have heard it over the system by now."  
"Yeah, that's so. Wonder what's bitten him?"  
"You asking **me**? Never could fathom these Jedi, man. Probably just some weird Jedi ritual..."

* * *

The Twi'lek Knight stared morosely up at the ceiling as she lay on her pallet. A quantity of fine, frilly white fabric lay in a messy heap in the middle of the room. Two sets of feminine Twi'lek headgear, both showing signs of heavy embellishment were strewn carelessly about: one dangling precariously by its wraps from a hanging light fixture, the other clinging for dear life to an arm of a chair. A fancy pair of strappy heels lay forlonly in the corner of the room, where they had been unceremoniously tossed by the same Twi'lek Knight who had by now given up contemplating the mysteries of her ceiling in favour of visually examining one of the two lightsabers in her possession.

This had been a sucky mission, Aayla thought. It had shown little promise of being anything else but sucky and unpleasant ever since Master Tholme had put a spanner in her usual high spirits by showing her that dastardly holovid of Master Quinlan making a most shocking and upsetting confession, and then peremptorily _forbidding_ her from going after him, and trying to turn him back to the light. Master Quinlan had done the very same for her, once before - after bastard Uncle Pol had dosed her with glitteryll and triggered an episode of severe amnesia. And now she was absolutely forbidden to repay her debt. Oh, and after that? She had had to wear that _horrid, horrid dress_ - yard upon yard of frilly white _garbage_ which made no pretenses whatsoever of preserving her modesty apart from the _barest_ essentials. And the hat. Oh, **Force**, THE HAT. She had refused to look at her reflection for longer than a second, and even then it was just to check that she'd put the damn thing on correctly. And let's not forget those bloody _heels_, Aayla reminded herself. Bloody stupid things, heels. Impossible to walk comfortably in, and one couldn't help but _mince about_ in them. Doubtless heels were a device thought up by horny men who just wanted another excuse to leer at women, she thought bitterly, before stopping herself.

That's quite enough, Aayla. You're _stewing_. It's not good or healthy to stew in negative emotions, and you know that. It was a mission, you were undercover, and you had a role to play. Don't take it out on the props.

...well, all right. But only because the _real_ meat-and-bones here is the steaming hot pile of nerf dung that is the ingrained gender inequality and misogyny of Twi'lek culture... to which Twi'lek women had been exposed for _millenia_, the fact that Twi'lek females were literally being bred to be little more than playthings, slaves, or pampered princesses - ugh! - and the fact that each time she'd had to disguise herself as any one of the three, getting into character had been so _easy_ - as if it were second nature. Almost. She'd been moody ever since viewing the holovid of Master Quinlan, but it had been Master Tholme's dry observation that her act had been "appallingly convincing" which had really upset her.

She'd even had a little outburst of temper - a _most_ un-Jedi like outburst.

And then there had been that hell-bitch, Aurra Sing. And Master Tholme and that **loopy** religious extremist who called herself the Dark Woman (and positively ENCOURAGED others to do the same, because her 'humility' had spurred her to forsake her NAME) had faked their deaths, which was understandable but unpleasant nonetheless, and she'd nearly been EATEN ALIVE by those smelly quarra... the list went on, and it was with some effort that Aayla finally managed to will them from her mind. At least you retrieved Master J'Mikiel's lightsaber for Xiaan, right?...sigh.

Meditate. Need to meditate. Empty the mind... you can do it - like you did the day before, when Kit asked if anything was the matter and you told him it was only a moment, and that the moment had passed...remember? Only, Aayla was in no mood now to pull herself to adopt the 'proper' meditative posture.

She settled for arranging herself in a more comfortable position on her pallet, with her pillow over her face to block out the light. Breathe deeply, in - and out. In - and out. Let go of your thoughts one by one, like grains of sand falling from your fist. Detach yourself from the irritation, the unpleasantness..

A sudden, urgent rapping at the door jolted Aayla back into the present. She didn't even bother to lift the pillow.

"Who is it?"

* * *

Kit stood outside Aayla's room, both his hearts pounding in his head. This, he told himself, is make or break. Taking a deep breath to calm himself - steady, Fisto! - he raised his hand and knocked on the door. No reply? But she's definitely in her room - I sense it, Kit thought.

He knocked harder. This time, a muffled response from Aayla. Kit grinned - it was always a joy to hear Aayla's voice.

"It's me, Aayla. Can I come in?"

The door opened as if of its own volition, revealing a very messy room. Carefully picking his way across the floor in order to avoid stepping in or on the various feminine accoutrements which threatened to ensnare the feet of the unwary, Kit approached the large floor cushion nearest to Aayla's pallet.

Stretching out an arm, Aayla motioned in the direction of the door, which slid obediently shut.

"Hmm? Hello, Kit..."

The pillow showed no signs of being removed from her face. Undeterred, Kit cleared his throat and launched into speech.

"Hey... you know, I've been thinking. A lot. Recently. And, well, I spoke to Master T'ra - or rather, she spoke to me - and she said a lot of really interesting things... about people one cares about, and how we relate to each other - relationships, actually - and about life in general. I.. I think I understand now how Master Tholme and her can have... what they have, without breaking the Code and.. or.. going Dark, or stumbling into really serious danger. I mean, it's all about _acceptance_ and just letting the Force lead you, isn't it? Which is what Jedi are taught to always do... follow the promptings of the Living Force, accept whatever is sent our way, whether it's happy or sad."

The pillow wobbled in a vaguely encouraging manner, accompanied by an indistinct "mmm" from Aayla.

Taking it as a prompt, Kit continued: "And if you think about it, Aayla - death, loss, separation.. all that is part and parcel of life, and inevitably people get separated whether they wish to be or not. Master T'ra thinks that the key to avoiding the dangers of attachment where.. _relationships_ are concerned is to acknowledge that the time she has with Master Tholme is limited, and to enjoy the moments as they come, taking the sweet along with the sad, as Jedi ought. I think that's very wise. She said it a lot better than I'm saying it, of course. I'm not a great speaker, as you know. And she was right too, you know? About relationships... like how they bring colour and meaning to life.. how it's impossible to really **live** if we don't have any - and I'm talking about relationships in general, you know? ...like between colleagues, fellow Jedi, and friends - like between you and I."

Stop babbling and get a grip, you dork, Kit scolded himself. Of course, it was just like you to rush headlong into blabbering your latest insight to Aayla without first sitting down and planning its delivery. Rather late in the day now to rescue it, though. You'll just have to spit it all out.

Kit suddenly felt very shy and small, as he prepared himself to say what he had come to Aayla to say. A feeling of deep thankfulness that Aayla still had that pillow over her face engulfed him completely. At least, he thought, she wouldn't see how..strange his colouration must look at present.

"Master T'ra showed me that it's possible to love someone as more than just an ordinary friend without losing focus, or becoming corrupted. She's showed me by her own example that it's possible for Jedi to.. be _involved_ and still stay on track, still be peaceful, serene... _balanced_. I learnt a lot from her today, Aayla. About what it means to live, and that we **can** _live_...fully, and still be Jedi. I didn't understand what she was driving at, at first, but I've given it plenty of thought.. and now I do. Aayla - you know you're one of my best friends. In fact, you _are_ my best friend, and I would hate to lose you as my best friend, so please don't be offended - I just need to be honest with you, and if you'd prefer me to remain just a friend, I'll happily step back into that. Just don't get mad at me and never talk to me again -" Fisto, you blathering idiot. Cut to the chase and tell her, already. Force.

"I.. I rather think I fancy you, Aayla. Quite a lot... since Kamino. Only I didn't know that I was, fancying you, that is - until later - but that's another story. I, uh.. I know that you might not feel the same way about me, and if you didn't, I'd understand - I mean, you're **extraordinarily** attractive - to me, at least - but that's NOT the reason I love you. And you're so clever. Much cleverer than I, as a matter of fact. And I think you're a very good Jedi, too. Um. Yes. That's.. what I wanted to say to you.. I hope you're not mad at me. Are you? Mad at me, I mean?"

Beneath the safety of her pillow, Aayla listened to Kit rambling at length about some extraordinarily enlightening conversation he'd had with Master T'ra. She vaguely registered that it had something to do with life, people, friends - and possibly the universe and everything. She wasn't too sure she understood where Kit was going with all this, because it all sounded so... _philosophical_, and _this_ really wasn't one of her Philosophical Days. At least it provided a partial distraction from the grump-inducing thoughts, which had ceased to scream in her head and were now more or less grumbling semi-coherently in the farthest recesses of her mind.

He's really on a roll today, Aayla observed, as - following a pause for breath - Kit launched into a further spiel of his latest philosophical discoveries: relationships, sweet moments and sad, the wisdom of Master T'ra..best friends..._ mad_ at him! Her? Whatever for..? Really, _what_ had gotten into him? Kit didn't usually go on at length about Philosophy, at least not at _this_ pace. It wasn't even his favourite subject. No, the Kit she had gotten to know, free from the 'Jedi Master' and 'High Councillor' tags, was humourous, spontaneous, friendly, open and and possessed of a disarming charm. And he certainly didn't ramble.

Aayla was about to sit up and ask Kit to _go slow on her brain_ when she heard it. No, she must have heard _wrong_. Kit? Fancied? **Her**? The grumbling thoughts in her head quieted abruptly at this unexpected admission. _Since Kamino_? Wait. Waaait. What. This had to be some kind of crazy joke played on her by the Force. A confession such as this, immediately following a maddening mission?

She couldn't help it. This was an absurd situation, bordering on the surreal. She started to laugh, silently, her shoulders shaking with each round of suppressed laughter.

Kit watched Aayla with a sense of growing anxiety. Yes, he had been honest. But he had probably also made a huge FOOL of himself. Or he had upset her - which, given her _silence_ and now this - was she _crying_? Had he upset her that badly? You great big fool of a Nautolan, Fisto..! Tentatively, he reached for the edge of the pillow which obscured Aayla's face, lifting it slowly. He wasn't sure what he'd see - or that he'd _like_ the expression on her face - but he certainly _wasn't_ going to just sit there and allow Aayla to (possibly) cry and be mad at him if he could apologize for his lack of tact.

Whatever he may have thought, Kit certainly did not expect to see Aayla with her eyes screwed shut and biting her lip while the corners of her mouth twitched upwards into a barely-controlled smile. He didn't know what to make of it. At least she isn't crying? That has to be a good thing. But why is she laughing? ..oh well. I guess I **have** been a bit of a twit. Embarrassed, Kit opened his mouth to say something, something smooth - but the words came out all wrong.

"Oh.. you're.. laughing. I.. see. Erm. Haha. I, uh, I guess I really AM an idiot. Ha..." Kit grinned, purely out of habit and also because he simply couldn't think of what to do with himself. You don't seem to have insulted her, but if she's laughing she's probably thinking something along the lines of 'stupid man - me? With _you_?' ...but at least you've been honest; Kit told himself. It was a very small comfort.

"I.. I guess I'll be going, now," he mumbled as he stood, smoothing out inexistent creases in his cloak. "We're still friends.. at least.. right?"

Kit turned and carefully stepped over a frivolous-looking pile of white frills and ruffles, taking pains not to trod on it. He had just got past it and was in the process of untangling the wraps of a ludicrous piece of Twi'lek headgear which had decided to befriend his head-tails when Aayla spoke.

"I'm not laughing at you, Kit. Really, I'm not." Kit turned to face her. Aayla was sitting up now, and the pillow had been restored to its rightful place on the pallet. She wore a gentle, if weary, smile now - occasionally broken when she chewed her lip. Distracted, Kit tugged at the _thing_ that threatened to take up residence in his head-tails. "Ow!"

"You'll ruin the hat and your head-tails if you pull at it like that, Kit. Sit down and I'll untangle you."

Feeling ridiculous, Kit walked back to the cushion, the accessory hanging from his head, and sank into it, realizing belatedly that he'd forgotten to avoid the white ruffly pile; which now sported an unmistakable boot-tread on it.

"Oh dear! Aayla, I've trod on the props."

"Wouldn't worry about that. It was a horrible dress, anyway. Didn't care for it. You've done me a favour! Now I can tell Master Tholme that there's no way he can expect me to put that thing on again."

Having untangled the headgear, Aayla pulled it gently away from its nesting place in Kit's head-tails. "Done!" She tossed the offending article aside, and turned her attention to Kit, who was looking at her with the sort of expression normally worn by younglings who have been caught doing something very silly.

Looking into his eyes, she spoke. "I think I owe you an apology, Kit. For laughing. I wasn't laughing at you, or anything you said... it's just been.. I've had a terrible day. Two days, actually. Far too much drama, plus Master Tholme gave me a piece of really bad news about Master Quinlan just before I went on the mission, and.. you know how I detest the way women are treated in Twi'lek culture? Well, having had to _pander_ to the stereotype in that degrading outfit.. and then running into **Aurra Sing** of all people, and nearly being eaten alive... one thing after another. So.. well, this is going to sound ridiculous but it's the truth - it's incredibly ironic that the nicest thing I've **ever** heard should come at the time I'm least prepared to deal with more.. surprises." Aayla bit her lip and smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Oh. Erm. I..I should have thought about that. Yes, you must have had a stressful time, and you must be tired... Force. How insensitive of me." Kit cringed inwardly. Obviously, he could not have picked a WORSE time to declare his love for Aayla. She was smiling at him, though; and he returned her smile with one of his own - out of sheer force of habit.

"Are we still.. friends?" Try as he might, Kit could not keep a hopeful tone out of his voice. Force, you sound like an eager Padawan hopeful, he mused. It was suddenly very difficult to maintain eye contact with Aayla. Her searching gaze seemed to look past flesh and bone into his very soul, even though her hazel eyes - when he did look directly at them - were still as gentle and beautiful as before.

"Friends? No, not really. Not anymore."

Kit's heart(s?) sank. So he had scuppered it. Maybe he really ought to have kept it to himself - after all, Aayla is an excellent Jedi, and you know how LOTS of your colleagues - apart from the famous Exceptions - frown on love and attachments of any sort, he thought. And now, you've managed to scare away your best friend. Nothing to do for it but to follow Master T'ra's excellent advice: accept defeat, and bear it like a Jedi should. Sighing inwardly, Kit stood up and smiled grimly at Aayla.

"I'm sorry to have lost your friendship, Aayla. You always were a very dear friend to me. But I will respect your choice." He moved towards the door.

Aayla stared at Kit uncomprehendingly. Hadn't she made herself quite clear? Then it clicked - of all the times to misunderstand her, of course it had to be NOW. The Force had a sense of **humour**, after all - very ironic humour, at that. Jumping to her feet, Aayla scurried to the door just in time to stop Kit from letting himself out.

"Kit, I do believe you've misunderstood...! What you've _just told me_ is the **nicest** thing.. the best piece of news I've ever heard. Didn't you hear me saying that?" Aayla wrinkled her forehead as she peered up at Kit.

"..did you..? Oh yes, I think you did." One of his hearts was definitely in his mouth, now. The other seemed to have started working overtime.

"You asked if we were still **friends**. I said we're not really **friends** anymore." Aayla spoke slowly and deliberately, laying emphasis on the key verbs. Surely Kit couldn't possibly miss the point now?

Something in Aayla's eyes and in the way she spoke flipped a switch in Kit's head. Comprehension flickered to life and the world suddenly looked a lot brighter. He was grinning, a genuinely elated grin this time. "No, I guess we aren't..!" Now, if _only_ he knew how to go about being a Special Person to his Special Person. There was a warm fuzziness spreading itself over him, now - a new, and not unpleasant feeling. _This_ is what T'ra must have meant by 'live'... it's wonderful! The thought raced through Kit's mind. The smile on his face grew a little wider. Aayla was grinning, too. She's never looked lovelier, Kit gushed to himself.

Common sense having long abandoned its post to instinct, Kit thought he'd rather like to kiss her. Like on Kamino, only minus the near-drowning and the droids, and the Kaminoan traitor, and the turbulent waves. He bent forwards, lowering his face to hers - and managed to stop himself just in time. Better ask her first, Fisto - there's really no need to duplicate your earlier demonstration of Poor Timing and Lack of Tact.

"Would you mind it very much if... if I kissed you, Aayla?"

This time, Aayla didn't even attempt to stifle her laughter. It burst out of her in ringing peals, filling the room.

"Today is really Irony Day, isn't it? A confession of love when I'm least prepared to properly appreciate it, and now that I am in an appropriate frame of mind... oh, Kit. This is completely bonkers. This day, I mean - not us.. and certainly not **you**." Aayla twitched her lekku at him, reinforcing the point, spelling out a silent invitation.

His hearts pounding deafeningly, Kit leant in, trying to recall just _how_ they had managed it on Kamino, without crushing their noses together. It would be a lot easier, he thought - if he took Aayla in his arms... yes, like that. Oh, Force. She was softer and cuddlier than he'd remembered... and now Aayla had put her arms around him too, and she was pulling him closer or was he pulling her closer?...their faces were getting nearer... he didn't know who moved first - it didn't matter - they were kissing. _Kissing_. Screw Kamino, thought Kit. This is infinitely better. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever want to stop. Neither did Aayla, it seemed. Nor would either of them have been inclined to put a halt to present proceedings were it not for technicalities such as _needing to breathe_, and, equally importantly, _not going too fast_.

They stood there, in the doorway of a messy room, wrapped in each other and in the moment, savouring the joy and sweetness - such sweetness! - every fleeting second brought.

"I love you," Kit mumbled into the top of Aayla's head.  
"I love you too," she told his right shoulder.  
"We'll often be apart, you know."  
"I know. But we'll still share our bond."  
"Even if we don't like it, and would much rather be together."  
"Mm hmm."  
"Either one of us may be sent into grave danger by the Council - though I'd tell you _immediately_ if any such decision were made involving you, of course."  
"A professional hazard."  
"Either of us might die far away from the other, someday. It will be a terrible grief."  
"There is no death, Kit - only the Force. We'd be together again, eventually."  
"If it should be me who goes first...I'll wait for you."  
"And I you."  
"This is a huge step we're taking, Aayla. I.. I just want you to make an informed choice, so that.. well, so that there won't be room for regret."

Aayla lifted her head from Kit's shoulder. "Informed? My dear Kit..! You're forgetting which Masters trained _this_ former Padawan. Master Tholme? Involved with Master T'ra. Master Quinlan? A heck of a **lot** more complicated - but sympathetic to the Tholme-T'ra School of Thought, even if not a subscriber to their morality...or any orthodox morality, come to think of it..."

Kit beamed at Aayla affectionately. "Glad we sorted that out, Aayla. Um..." he paused, wondering whether it would be utterly _gauche_ of him to - might as well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

"Could we kiss again?"

"Of course we could! Only not right now, because it's nearly dinnertime, and we'll be missed - and also because my room is a right tip, and you're going to be a very good boyfriend, _and help me tidy up_." Planting a kiss on the side of Kit's face, Aayla winked conspiratorially, detached herself and crossed to the middle of the room.

"For starters, you've already stepped on this horrid dress. If you'd be so kind as to help put a few... artistic tears and frayed edges in it, just to make sure - I'd be very grateful..."

* * *

T'ra sat in a meditative posture in front of Tholme's bacta tank. A datapad lay on the floor beside her, its screen glowing in the half-light of the medbay. Tholme watched her from behind the plexiglass of the bacta tank, serene and ...well. How did one describe a Neti female? He smiled behind the breather that was wrapped around the lower portion of his face, as he noticed that T'ra's serene expression was being replaced by one of... amusement? Raising a hand, Tholme tapped on the plexiglass surrounding him, hoping to draw T'ra's attention. Her eyelids fluttered open, and the soft smile on her face deepened.

Tholme raised his eyebrows, waggled them, furrowed his brows and nodded at T'ra: what happened?

T'ra picked up the datapad and began scribbling something on it. When she was done, she turned the datapad so that Tholme could read what was written on it:

_No more worrying, Tholme. Mission accomplished._


End file.
